No Wind
by insane.lil.piratess
Summary: Set in AWE. One-Shot. Alone in the Locker, Jack is confronted by a visitor in the form of his old friend and original first mate, Arabella Smith. A short, pointless - but sweet all the same - Sparrabella one-shot. What more could you ask for? :D


**Disclaimer:**** I don't own Arabella or Jack or anything used here, in fact. Everything belongs to Disney and Rob Kidd.**

**Author's Note:**** Just an idea that came to me! Thought I'd write it up and post it as an apology for not updating much lately :/ Well, enjoy!**

* * *

No Wind

**--**

"_No wind, of course there's no bloody wind. On my soul I do swear, not a gust, a whisper, a tiny miniature lick..."_

**--**

His eyes tightened. Squeezing them so sternly shut was more than a bad move; the headache strained by the unbearable rays of heat beating down on him roared on, sending pitiless, brutal paroxysms through his temples. No air, no wind – no gentle gust severed the heat or pain he endured, lying flat beneath a sun so large it was impossible – _impossible_ – it was genuine.

Suddenly, Captain Jack Sparrow bolted upright, eyes wide, bloodshot, strained...

He was unprotected, shielded not by the torn sails of his ship, from the deadly, wrathful heat, singing his skin, burning through the heavy robes he could not find the will to deprive himself of. He longed for the sea, the breeze to whip over his sweat-smothered face, long vexing splashes to cool him throughout this sway of heat.

He thought hard. Yet nothing came.

A sudden inhalation of a voice – a beautiful, soft, familiar voice – ripped Jack's unwilling attention from his pain, tearing his eyes to meet those of hers, a woman whom he never thought he would lay his eyes on again.

The environment remained still, motionless, yet her tousled auburn hair fluttered around her in an obvious breeze in which he stretched out to reach however could not find. He flinched back slowly, steadily, uncertain of himself and the strange, blank world around him, but still found himself smiling the name of this beauty with confidence:

"Belle."

Arabella Smith, the first – and victoriously best – first mate he could have wished for as a fifteen year old adolescent approached him, the years working to her advantage, allowing her to look not at all different from the last time he had seen her. Her twinkling brown orbs, long dishevelled hair... he smiled – she was still his Belle.

His Belle.

"Jack," she muttered gently. Captain Sparrow's smirk extended as she dawned closer, smothering back her ratted and torn skirts to place herself next to him on the toasted dry deck of the _Pearl_. She sighed, sorrowfully, nestling her head soothingly onto his shoulder, closing lids over eyes, her heart beating fast one moment and unmoving in the next.

"Jack," she repeated, "I feel so cold..." She paused, allowing a short, sharp and more characteristic singular 'ha' of irony. "It's so warm, but I feel so cold," she explained, steadily, captivating the captain with the very fragrance of her hair – the scent of the living world: the salt of the sea and the cool touch of the breeze.

He drew in a breath of the airless world around them, breezing over the lingering wonder in his mind concerning his breathing and how he had not dropped down to the deck dead quite yet and focusing on Arabella – her eyes had opened and were staring far out into the vast, empty land which had become somewhat his home after the past... day? Month? Hour? Time had disappeared, speeding itself and slowing itself. The sun never set and never rose – the darkness never came yet in his mind never faded.

"So cold," Arabella whispered, breathlessly.

Jack mirrored her sigh, draping one, aching arm around her shoulders, freely despite the perplexing, daunting situation they found themselves entwined in. Eventually, he let a sigh slip through plastered smile as he replied with:

"Welcome to Davy Jones' Locker, love."

She did not reply, frozen in the position she had hardly moved from since her arrival – gazing into the nothingness, mournfully. Ultimately, she rolled back her head on his shoulder, staring straight up into his chocolate brown eyes which appeared unblinking, observing the surroundings, too, noticing her newest pose, yet not at all countering it.

Her lips moved progressively with the words, "I missed ye, Jack," a sharp intake of breath to accompany. She waited for his response, pushing herself closer to him, not out of lust but out of comfort – security. With Jack she had felt so safe. Despite all the dangers he had dragged them both into, he was always there.

"Aye, Belle," he spoke candidly, "I missed you too, love."

"The world needs ye back, Jack," she continued, removing herself, to his displeasure, widening the space between their two bodies enough to make him secretly yearn for her closeness again. He watched, regretfully as she straightened herself upright, standing once again in the centre of an unexsistant breeze. He arose too, forcing his unique, trademark smirk upon his lips, attempting to charm her closer once again.

She remained motionless, whispering the words, faintly; "_I_ need ye back..."

He postponed his response, reaching out for Arabella once more, running his fingers lightly across her cheek, tangling them into her unkempt auburn locks before responding with his actual words. He opened his lips, hesitantly, though was discontinued in his attempt to reply by her next declaration:

"Beckett has the heart," she breathed, voice panicked and suddenly unsteady. "He's taking over the seas and..." She halted, dipping her eye line from his, glancing straight to her booted feet. Once composed, she recuperated his eyes and attention, continuing ever so slowly; "and he's killing pirates everywhere, Jack."

Jack remained unsurprised, caressing her face as if her words had breezed straight past him. He had heard. It had sunken in. But, eccentrically enough, he didn't care – couldn't care less if the world completely lost itself, falling reluctantly into Beckett's command. He had even forgotten about the wind, or rather the lack of it. As long as Arabella was with him, he had decided, he needed nothing else.

"A grim fate in itself," he somewhat agreed, concentrating his soft clasp on her chin, pulling her gaze up to meet his as it began to abscond yet again.

Distracted, she tore away, chewing down hard on her bottom lip. "The world needs ye back, Jack," she repeated once again, her voice becoming a distant whisper as she began to turn away. "They'll be coming for ye... Ye'll escape..."

Pain, misery, regret. Emotions choked out Arabella's words, enough to turn her back around and send her hurling into Captain Sparrow's arms, tightly holding onto him in a powerful – and extremely uncharacteristic – embrace. Her scent once again intoxicated him – he wanted his freedom, the breeze and the sea, to return. So much in fact he pulled from her, twitching up his features, clearing his dry, scratched throat, headache returning to his temples, back with a ferocious bite.

Arabella said nothing on this subject. She merely turned and began to walk on yet again, head turned over shoulder, watching her captain stand there, drained of his sanity.

"I'm not dead, Jack," she finally stated, "perhaps when ye're granted freedom, ye'll find me." A sharp sigh tugged itself from her lips, "I do miss ye. A lot. I hope I'll see ye again."

His attention turned to Arabella once more, the fact her absence would soon be a reality indefinite to him – of course, he didn't want her to leave; never. It would have brought back painful memories had Jack been set in the right frame of mind. But the Locker can do things – things to your mind. He barely remembered the time she had left once before as he watched her fade into the blackness of his ship.

As if she were a ghost.

Gone. She had gone as quick as she had come.

Jack's heart thundered, pleading for her presence yet again. "One can only hope," he responded to her last words as if she were still beside him. Regaining his position on deck, he jammed his eyes shut, his temples throbbing at this sudden action. The pain, however, was bearable. There was a picture processing through Captain Sparrow's mind – a vision of Arabella Smith beside him again, auburn haired head placed softly on his chest, her breathing steady and slow.

He visualized the raging waves around them, sea splashing their faces, so vividly he could almost feel the change of tide beneath the ship. As his face leaned to hers, lips but sheer millimetres apart, the breeze picked up, swirling itself easily around the two of them, sails flapping, waves roaring. Moving in closer, his actions almost met their two lips...

Until his chocolate orbs jerked open, and he was back.

Emptiness.

Loneliness.

Davy Jones' Locker.

"One can only hope," he mumbled once again, examining one particularly large ring possessing half his finger on the left hand. Squinting in the blinding light, he saw a figure – one lonely figure aboard his ship, nose sniffling along a surface toward something.

Jack twitched up his nostril, the salted, nutty scent of a lonely peanut wafting through the breezeless air to meet his senses, curiosity immediately sparked – _intrigued_. Following his own nose to the food he had forever longed to taste between his lips, the captain swayed over the deck, drawing his pistol aiming straight for said figure that just about appeared to be a replica of himself.

Finding this not at all disturbing, Jack fired, his clone dropping lifelessly to the ground. Effortlessly, he reached over, fiddling the salted, deliciously scented peanut between his fingers, examining it quickly. Before devouring it with much desire, Captain Sparrow twitched his features up into a wry smile, adding the quick two words:

"My peanut."

* * *

**Author's Note:**** Yes, incase anyone was wondering, Belle was just a fragment of Jack's imagination... :( That's why she appeared to look not a day older than he'd last seen her: because that's what his imagination would believe, I'm guessing. Obviously, Belle would look older... maybe they can meet up once Jack escapes the Locker and he'll see for himself!**

**Yes... it would be good to write a short sequel to this one – I really enjoyed writing it! :)**

**Anyways, if you don't count songfics, this is really my first one-shot! :) And I don't know why I wrote Jack's quote up at the top in italics – I just really like it! :D So... there ye have it! A Sparrabella one-shot which I am hereby insanely proud of! **

**Please review! And who knows, if you guys liked **_**this**_** one, maybe I could do a sequel! :D**


End file.
